“What do we do?” Alex hissed.
“Stay very still,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. I didn’t think the bear had noticed us yet. It stood half in the stream, half out—soaking its paws, just like we’d been—while happily lapping up the water. I watched as it took a step in our direction. Even though its muscles were covered by a thick coat of black-brown fur, I could see how they tensed and contracted. With only a small movement, it showed its power. I forced myself to glance away—what if the bear could somehow sense me staring, and then it would look downstream and see us?
There are lots of black bears in the Northwoods—the Department of Natural Resources website estimates twenty-eight thousand throughout Wisconsin—though I’d never seen one in the wild before. The closest I’d come is the carved wooden figurine of a big bear that sits in a neighboring cabin’s yard—the first time we drove by it, I gasped and grabbed for my camera because I thought it was the real thing. I’d seen signs that bears were around Buttercup Lake, though—and not just the literal signs reminding people to secure their garbage cans so they don’t attract scavengers. Sometimes there were paw prints in wet mud. Once, a neighbor described having to scare one away from an uncleaned barbecue grill.
Bears are actually shy, according to all the books and articles I’ve read. Most of the time, if they realize they’ve gotten near humans, they’ll scamper away. The problem is when you startle them while they’re close by. That’s when they get defensive, and people can get hurt.
A weathered old Northwoods guidebook back at the cabin had covered all this. Most people encountering a bear have the impulse to scream and dash to safety. Not a great idea, as bears can outrun a human, and a startled bear might charge. The guidebook said that to avoid surprising a bear, you should make sure it knows humans are around while you’re still a good, nonthreatening distance away. By talking, laughing, and waving your arms. Once a bear realizes it’s gotten close to people, it’ll usually scoot off to a quieter part of the forest. Then you can walk away too.
Alex and I needed to make noise and laugh and move around while the bear was still upstream. Before it got dangerously close.
“Do you remember the words to ‘Down by the Banks’?” I whispered.
“Why are you asking me about a hand-clapping game?” Alex hissed back. “There is a huge bear. Right over there. It probably smelled all our blood.” Could Alex possibly be right about that? “We’re about to die.” Her fingers laced together, and I wondered if she was praying.
I shook my head no. “Only if it feels threatened by us. We have to make sure the bear knows we’re here. Just play along.” I took a deep breath, then clapped my hands to start the rhythm. “Down by the banks of the Hanky Panky,” I sang. My voice wavered. I locked eyes with Alex and nodded at her as I kept clapping to the beat, a little louder. I forced a really fake laugh.
She glanced toward the bear, who still hadn’t noticed us. Alex also took a deep breath, then unlaced her fingers to join me in clapping. “Where the bullfrogs jump from bank to banky.” Her voice was unnaturally high and tight-sounding, and out of tune—but Alex has never been able to carry one. Not even the “Happy Birthday” song.
“With a hip, hop, hippity, hop.” I raised my hand so she could high-five me. The smack echoed through the trees.
“Hip, hop, hippity, hop,” she repeated in a warble.
“Leap off a lily pad and go kerplop!” we sang and sealed with the loudest clap yet, and then we fake-laughed in unison.
The bear, which had waded all the way into the stream, suddenly stopped. Its ears perked up. It sniffed at the air. The muscles in its legs tightened. I held my breath, hoping that it would turn and move away, upstream. But it didn’t. Instead, it looked downstream, right at us.
My heart seemed to rise into my throat as the bear’s dark eyes now locked with mine. Okay, now it knows we’re here. It’ll leave. Any second now…
The bear stayed in the same position, watching us, with its nostrils flaring.
“Next verse?” I said to Alex. We clapped another high five. The bear watched us. It opened its mouth, wide like a yawn. But I don’t think it was bored or tired. I think it wanted to show us its huge, sharp teeth.
“I don’t think this is working,” Alex hissed in between lines of the song.
What else are we supposed to do? My pulse pounded in my head so hard that it was becoming impossible to focus.
“I’m going to make a run for it,” Alex whispered, still next to me. “I’m not going to sit here like a little mouse, waiting to be eaten.”
“No!” I grabbed her arm. “It’ll run after you. Unless we convince it we’re nothing like little mice.” I paused. That was what I’d been trying to remember. “We need the bear to think we’re bigger than it is. That we’re the alphas here.”
I looked around frantically. Behind us, the life vest lay on top of the unrolled inner tube. I grabbed the vest first, arranging it around my head like the weirdest crown you’ve ever seen. The inner tube I held up and sort of behind me, almost like it was a cape or wings. Then I slowly stood tall. With all that stuff on me, I must have looked a lot bigger. Hopefully in an imposing way, not just a ridiculous one.
You’re supposed to speak calmly but loudly to a bear. You aren’t supposed to show any fear. I don’t know if they can smell blood from far away, but they definitely can sense fear up close. Then they know you’re the beta, or worse: prey.
“Hi, Bear,” I called to it, trying my hardest to sound relaxed, almost cheerful. “We are big, strong humans over here. Total alpha females. Just doing our thing.”
I had hoped that the bear would suddenly turn and scamper through the trees. Instead, it rose to stand on its hind legs. It wasn’t snarling at us or anything aggressive, though. Maybe it was curious? I really wished I’d done a TAG project on bear behavior.
I stood there long enough for my arms to burn from holding up the inner tube. I was now in the middle of a staring contest with a bear. Okay, so what do you do if making yourself appear bigger doesn’t immediately scare the bear away? We were at an impasse…until the bear opened its mouth, let out a loud grunt, and took one slow, deliberate step in our direction.
“Oh no oh no oh no oh no.” Alex whimpered next to me.
“Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, stay calm,” I whispered back. I raised my arms higher, even though my biceps ached. “Do you have all your stuff?” Alex shook her head. “Grab all your stuff. Our stuff,” I added because my water shoes were still sitting on a rock near Alex’s flip-flops and tote bag.
Alex frantically tossed the shoes into her bag and slung it over her shoulder.
I spoke quietly out of the side of my mouth. “Okay, I’m going to keep talking to the bear. You’re going to stay behind me, and we’re both going to walk backward downstream, slowly. And calmly.” I didn’t think we should dash for the woods, where we might not be able to monitor where the bear was in relation to us, and where it would be impossible to escape quickly because of the overgrown trees.
Alex became my shadow, standing so close behind me that I could still smell her mango body spray, mixed with her sweat. “Ready?” I asked.
“Ready,” she replied.
“Okay, Bear, we’re going to mosey on our way now. Enjoy your drink,” I said, my voice sounding firm but friendly, like a kindergarten teacher’s. “Don’t mind us.” I took two tentative steps backward, which was tricky with the flowing water and the slippery rocks below the stream’s surface.
“Can you spot me?” I asked Alex.
“Uh-huh. Actually, I’ll lead,” she said.
“Good idea.” She grabbed a fistful of my sweatshirt and gently tugged me along to follow her. The water splashed around our calves and up to our knees. My towel skirt was heavy from the bottom half being soaked. I felt the knot starting to unravel, but I couldn’t lower my hands to grab it. The towel dropped into the water with a splash.
“Got it,” Alex said, reaching her free hand to scoop it up.
The bear was still on its hind legs, watching us intently.
“See, Bear? We’re not bothering you. You can go back to whatever you were doing. Taking a bath. Fishing. Having happy hour. It’s kind of hard to tell.”
Alex tugged me downstream again. My toes gripped the rocks and pebbles on the bottom of the stream. I wanted to lower the tube so badly. My arms were shaking, hard.
The bear made one last grunt, almost sounding exasperated. Then it lowered onto all fours. Please let us go, I begged. I held my breath, wondering if it was about to charge us.
Instead, the bear dipped its snout back into the stream for a drink. It wasn’t even looking at me anymore.
It had worked.
We still needed to get out of the bear’s sight, though. “Walk faster,” I instructed Alex. She pulled me along. My eyes stayed glued on the bear. I could keep holding up the tube for maybe a minute longer before my arms would drop.
The stream curved to the left as it sloped downhill, and once we finished the turn, the bear disappeared from view. My arms tumbled down like strings that had been cut on a marionette. The inner tube made a big splash as it hit the surface of the water, soaking me. “Go, go, go!” I urged Alex, turning to face the same way. I grabbed the tube, and we began running, even though we were still in the stream. We made it only a few feet before Alex tripped and fell.
I whirled around to pull her up by her armpits. Her tote bag was mostly right-side-up, but it was all wet.
“Are you okay?” I asked, glancing back nervously to see if the bear had followed us downstream.
“Yeah, I think so—there was a branch or something underwater.” She wiped her hair off her face, and I helped her resettle the tote bag on her hip.
“Maybe it’s safe to go back to the shore now. I don’t see the bear anywhere.”
“Should we walk on the other side?” Alex pointed across the stream. “Because the bear came from the one we were on.”
“Good idea.”
We waded over and climbed onto the rocks. I checked one last time for the bear, craning my neck to see as far upstream as possible. It was gone, somewhere into the forest. We were safe. At least, for now.